


Mask

by junkienicky



Category: Wentworth (TV)
Genre: Drunk Sex, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Mild Angst, Post-Canon, Sexual Content, i've done worse i guess, started this not really expecting to get it finished but hey ho
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-14
Updated: 2019-04-14
Packaged: 2020-01-13 11:42:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18468232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/junkienicky/pseuds/junkienicky
Summary: Something is weighing Bridget down and Franky seeks her out in the bathroom of a co-worker's house party.





	Mask

**Author's Note:**

> Just a quick note, Holding Pattern should be updated very soon. Clocks, too, hopefully. ATM, I'm juggling different works and seeing how they go, so, we'll see. Hope you enjoy this! Big thanks to Lutefiskfisk.

Brimming with an unignorable tenseness, Franky brusquely decided she’d bite the bullet and be excused from the group of new and unfamiliar faces to have a cig, which, unbeknownst to them, was obviously a lie. Franky didn’t actually smoke, or at least not regularly anyway.

Not really having much of a clue as to where she was going, she trotted zealously down the hall with a drink in her hand, making a path of clonks with each step her heels made. She wasn’t concerned – not really. Well, maybe she was since it was a while ago that Bridget had unjointed their hips to go pee. The woman had managed to slip away quietly, leaving her nothing more than a whisper before sauntering towards wherever the loo was. It was only then that the paralegal realised just how intrusive, out of place and ill-at-ease she felt around these people without the blonde by her side. Besides, she was only tagging along as a plus-one. She had never been officially invited in the first place. The million-dollar house was Jenny’s – Bridget’s co-worker, whose parents were successful owners of a considerably large firm. Business and economics were a subject Jenny had ventured into, though, growing up, she’d developed a fondness of psychology. At twenty-four, this million-dollar house was hers simply just because it could be, and she was free to explore any different career path in the snap of her fingers, so long as it didn't require any real effort to get into. She could flip-flop between her current job and the world of business and she could certainly leave Life Solutions without so much of a day’s notice to go travel, so long as mum and dad were bankrolling her. That was roughly the extent of what Franky knew about Jenny because that’s all that Bridget had said about her with little enthusiasm, but when this invite had come around, Bridget had found herself near enough pleading for Franky to come along with her.

Upon arrival to such a grand, open space, Franky had kind of presumed that locating the bathroom might take a while in the seemingly never-ending halls of warm lighting, yet to be unpacked boxes, buzzingly busy chatter and endless family photo frames placed impeccably to the walls. Surprisingly, it didn’t take that long when the letters ‘BATHROOM’ stuck out to her. The door was decorated with pale blue characters of the word stuck to its paint all perfectly aligned with the same amount of distance between each alphabetical symbol. Franky hadn’t exactly had much of a conversation with Jenny Gallagher at all in the past few hours (unless introductions and handing over drinks counted), but if she was met with ‘Live, Laugh, Love’ quotes upon entering the room, Franky would be unfazed. She seemed like one of those mildly annoying types of women who would frequently go out of her way to enthusiastically declare how much she appreciated every single aspect of life.

The brunette tapped a knuckle gently to the wood, gaining no response. “Gidge?” she questioned softly and tentatively twisted the doorknob to press the door open ajar. Franky slipped into the room, closed the door after her, and a wide-eyed Bridget jumped slightly.

“Jesus,” she whispered. “You scared me.”

“Yeah, I get that a lot,” Franky smirked, looking towards the woman who was sat on the closed-lidded toilet. Her brows creased in confusion before she took another sip from her bottle of Stella and swallowed it down; the refined taste almost made her shiver with newfound ease, especially now that she’d found who she was looking for after being abandoned for what seemed like an excruciatingly long time. The shutout music thumped and vibrated through the floor and up her feet. “What have you been doin’?” she asked, bemused.

“Peeing,” Bridget said, almost question-like.

“For twenty minutes? I thought you’d fallen in,” Franky asked, a tint of mirth painting her face. Her girlfriend took a deep sigh that indicated some restlessness and she rolled her head back, exposing more of her smooth neck. Franky swallowed. “And with the lid down?” she continued.

“I just felt like getting some air,” Bridget explained. She picked up her glass from the floor and finished whatever choice of beverage she had in it with one quick gulp as Franky dabbed the corner of her mouth with her tongue, a signature look.

“Little much for you back there?” she smiled, moving to rest her back against the wall.

“You could say that,” Bridget agreed and crossed her legs. Franky watched her less so with confusion and more with fascination as the shorter woman leant down to fiddle with her shoes. Franky had warned her they’d hurt, and Bridget had been a pain in the ass when she’d asked for advice and opted out from taking it.

“You’re staring at me,” the blonde murmured, her eyes not leaving their place to glance up at the brunette. It wasn’t an accusation, just more of a feeling. She could sense the jade irises lingering on her, observing each movement in awe. Not in a creepy way, of course. Bridget actually found it rather amusing. The way she was stood there readily like she was waiting to be asked for something to do.

Franky inhaled deeply because, yes, she probably was staring without even realising and she dipped her chin coyly, a shade of red pinching her cheeks. She wasn’t embarrassed about it. It was just kind of remarkable how, with little to no effort, Bridget was able to pick up on such things. And right then, Franky remembered just how much they really knew each other.

“You know, we didn’t have to come if you didn’t want to. I’m sure Jenny wouldn’t have missed you too much.”

“No, I know, I just…” Bridget sat up straight and paused as if to reboot her thinking. “What are they doing out there?” she changed the topic. Franky’s back sagged against the wall. She could do with a chair, to be fair.

“Dancing, drinking, swimming. Playing Charades,” she said vacantly. She’d always found the game rather dull. “You wanna go back out there?”

“Nuh,” Bridget said.

Franky’s brows knitted again. “Why not?”

The blonde was resting the side of her face in her hand and she let out this low, tipsy chuckle. She finally gazed at Franky; soft azure filled with this sharp shade that blazed the brunette’s skin.

Franky felt her knees wobble slightly. Or maybe she did just _really_ need a chair.

“I don’t think I’ve told you how sexy you look tonight,” Bridget hummed, letting her eyes read in every single small detail of the brunette’s body. She admired each tiny imperfection that was exposed and the colour of her tatts that were as bright and vivid as a children’s picture book. She didn’t have the best eyesight in the world, but she could just take one glance at Franky’s face and see the microscopic specks of freckles along her cheeks and nose hid beneath her delicately applied cosmetics.

In flatter, the brunette broke out into a bubble of laughter. Her Gidge was pretty pissed.

“Oh, I think you might’ve mentioned it. If you wanted to invite me for a private pash, you could’ve just asked me to come with you,” Franky grinned. “Alright, shit, let’s play something ourselves. A game.” She bent to place her beer bottle down, her chartreuse eyes sparkling with an unnamed intention.

Bridget raised a curious brow. “What kind of game?” she asked, the room feeling like it was slowly starting to swirl. She might enjoy this.

Franky clicked her tongue. “We ask each other trivial shit, like dumb questions, and we have to answer, no matter what.”

The blonde leant back on the seat and looked at her girlfriend thoughtfully, humoured by the explanation. “That’s not really a game, but okay,” she accepted. “You go first.”

Franky twisted her lips and rested her hands on her jeans. “First time you got drunk? Full on. Not just tipsy. Hangover an’ all.” Her tongue darted out between her teeth playfully as she bounced her lower back against the wall. The blonde took her gaze upwards to think back. That was a while ago.

“Seventeen. I was at a Divinyls concert. One of the best nights of my life. You?”

“Fair dinkum. Fifteen at a home. We were playing ‘Never Have I Ever’ until we got caught. We got in so much shit. Your turn.”

Bridget cocked her neck to think and hummed quietly. A devilish smile twitched at her lips before she breathed out. “What’s the most unorthodox place you’ve ever had sex? Mine was at Uni. I had an ex who was studying music and one time in one of the studios, we…” she trailed off, preferring not to lay out the details of the affair.

Franky gasped and beamed in hilarity. “You little minx!” she snickered.

“What about you?” Bridget pressed, deciding that thinking back to that incident only unveiled cringe and pity more than anything. Especially since that ex was a He.

The brunette cast her eyes down slightly and sighed. “But it’s embarrassing,” she started.

Bridget chuckled. “We have to answer, no matter what. Your rules,” she pointed out.

“Fine,” Franky huffed sheepishly. “I was at this gig, met this chick there and we went to the restrooms and did it there…”

Bridget suddenly realised that maybe her outlandish place at which she’d undergone the activity probably wasn’t as bad as she’d presumed. She stifled a grin. It was unorthodox, sure, but not exactly uncommon.

“Did you even know her name?”

The paralegal shrugged. “All I remember is that she was dull, blonde and had big tits.” She shook her head. “Think I’ve fine-tuned my taste to much higher standards since then.” She pushed herself off of the wall to regard Bridget with a smile – the woman who, aside from her warmly outgoing exterior and comfortable smiles, seemed wound up inside her own thoughts sometimes.

But before Franky could voice her concern, Bridget had uncrossed her legs and this risqué look had shifted the blonde’s visage. Bridget stood from her slump, slowly but with grace, as she began to elegantly close the space between herself and the brunette. Franky had to wonder how it could be possible for someone to gather themselves so finely from such a position, but then, it was Bridget she was looking at.

“Do you want to play out that fantasy again?” the blonde uttered, letting her heels clonk slowly along the tiles towards the paralegal. Franky gulped thickly and realised her mouth had turned dry. It was rare that she ever found herself without words, but it felt like they had been sucked out of her into a vacuum as her eyes froze to Bridget’s level. Her lips quirked into a half smile, a pretty astonished one at that, and her hands automatically circled around Bridget’s waist before the blonde lost her balance.

“What do you mean?” Franky teasingly played dumb. She began to think this sentiment was something Bridget had planned all along. Bridget merely responded by arching a brow and her fingers fiddled with the hem of Franky’s black lace shirt as she inhaled in ponder. Now Franky was certain she really _did_ need a chair.

Thin strands of honey hair tickled Franky’s collarbone. Bridget had been growing it back out and the way she’d pinned it up for the evening had been doing something to Franky’s knees on more than one occasion. A shuddering shiver ran up from her tailbone to each shifted shoulder blade that suddenly tensed up. “Gidge, are you – ?” her voice squeaked. Their noses were millimetres apart and all Franky could feel was Bridget’s eyes drinking her in and the feeling of warm hands on her hips. Shit, this was far too intoxicating for her own good.

The psychologist continued the ministrations with Franky’s shirt and trailed her hands along the smooth of her stomach. At that point, all Franky could do was let out this quietly nervous noise that resonated with a laugh. Her eyes darted to the door lock when the feel of Bridget’s lips began brushing against the skin of her neck. White-hot kisses were blistering her skin before she could even object and point out her hesitation - the big fat elephant in the room. She suppressed a moan and pushed the blonde away gently after realising the bounds of common sense might have slipped past Bridget’s notice after a few drinks.

Franky wasn’t sure, but it looked like her lover was subdued from losing the closeness. Sulky, maybe.

“Hate to kill your lady-boner, Gidget, but might I remind you that we’re at someone’s party. In someone’s bathroom.”

“So?”

“Your colleague’s bathroom,” Franky stressed, grinning wildly. “And ‘sides, there might be a queue out there by now.”

“I’m sure they can use one of her four other bathrooms,” Bridget purred. The way it slipped from her mouth made a ribbon twirl in Franky’s stomach that became a strain to ignore, and now she was really reluctant to decline such an offer.

She was still off-guard by the scene, though. Thing is, Bridget never usually was this… forward. And while Franky very much appreciated the turn of events, it was all quite unusual. Something had gotten into her, and it wasn’t just a few drinks.

“Shit, Bridget…” Franky husked. Her eyes flicked to the lock on the bathroom door once more just to double check that they were shielded from the very real possibility of somebody innocently stumbling their way into a not-so-innocent scene. Once Bridget’s wobbly hands had finished fumbling with the zipper of the paralegal’s jeans, she wasted no time dipping into her boxer briefs, delighted by the dampness she was met with. A digit sunk in without much warning and kisses were peppered all along Franky’s jaw as Bridget tried to keep herself upright. “Oh, God…” Franky panted, rolling her head back and breathing into darkness when she blinked her eyes closed at the feeling of Bridget’s thumb brushing over her clit. A hand reached to her full breast with the tatted flamed dice and Bridget gave it a firm squeeze for Franky to whimper in response.

Bridget worked her up pretty quickly and it wasn’t long until Franky was a quiet shuddering mess in glitching white noise. She hugged into the blonde’s shoulder as a broad smile plastered its way onto her features. But Bridget wasn’t slowing down just yet. Her nails delicately dragged from the brunette’s shoulders to her hips and Franky’s eyes jolted open wide once she dug in harder. It was like Bridget was scratching onto her territory, marking the skin under her fingertips because if she didn’t, in an instant, Franky would vanish into particles and cease to exist.

Franky pressed away as Bridget’s nails began to reach the scars along her left side. To say they dabbled regularly in rough sex would most likely be a lie, but it was still far from “vanilla”. Even so, Franky began to feel uncomfortable under the coarse touch and the mixed feelings it stirred up. Bridget’s fun, raunchy side was most certainly a sight to see – exhilarating even, in the way it lit up these sensations Franky had forgotten she had. But the sharpness so close to her childhood wounds hit immensely close to so-called “home” and suddenly, sex was the very last thing on her mind.

“Gidge…” her voice broke. Bridget responded by pressing herself closer to Franky’s skin. “Bridget, wait, you’re hurting me,” her voice firmed.

The blonde sprung back immediately with a pale look of guilt, humiliation and remorse. “Shit, I’m so sorry, I didn’t –” Bridget rushed in a quiet, more urgent tone, and she stumbled back on her heels, creating a fair distance.

“It’s okay,” the paralegal whispered in assurance.

“No, it isn’t…”

“It’s fine, you just got me by surprise, eh.” Franky gave her a warm smile whilst she adjusted herself and brushed down the fabric of her jeans. Almost looking like a child who had done a terrible thing, the psychologist cleaned her hands before she sat herself on the periphery of the bathtub, keeping her glance anywhere but on Franky. It didn’t slip past the paralegal’s notice and she stepped closer cautiously to address and rectify any discomfort or embarrassment Bridget felt. “Gidge,” she said, kneeling by the blonde, and took her hand to gently caress Bridget’s leg. “I’m serious, it’s cool, I’m just… not used to seeing you like this.” She gave a soft chuckle. “I wasn’t expecting it.”

Bridget was restraining something under lock and key and Franky could tell easily. If there was anyone who had mastered the artistry of building blocks and towers around herself – Franky could call herself a professional with a fucking degree.

The brunette sighed because, no, she wasn’t much of an adviser or someone she’d consider worthy enough for someone else to seek comfort in. Bridget was an expert at this sort of thing and while it did feel unusual to be on the other end of the stick, she wasn’t willing (or that much of a distasteful, stonehearted bitch) to leave her cowering in some stranger’s bathroom at a subpar party.

“You’ve been quiet all day, Gidge. What’s up?” she asked tenderly. And Franky should have predicted Bridget’s next move, because, of course, she attempted to shrug it off. This was a woman who saw herself in a place of misfortune, looked at the rest of the world and caught glimpses of others that had it worse than herself. This was a woman who had bent over backwards for the last twenty years of her life, working to help people gain a better state of mind. If there was one thing Franky was absolutely certain of, from the vast and far-out knowledge she had on the rules of law, to the limited understanding of other endless topics, subjects and information spewed out by the planet – it was that the world didn’t deserve Bridget Westfall. Probably not – no, especially not herself.

“It’s nothing, I just haven’t had a moment to relax, Franky, that’s all,” she shrugged, wide-eyed, allowing a shaky laugh and hoping it just sounded tipsy but not unconvincing. Franky smirked close-lipped and her brows raised a tad as she resumed her light circles, rubbing gently at Bridget’s skin to coax any flicker of ease to surface. She knew she was lying. The tightness in her chest was still persisting.

“Y’know, for a psychologist, you’re just putting out all the defences your clients would,” she poked playfully, but that just made Bridget grimace. “Come on, Bridget, I wanna help ya, you’re not yourself.”

A smile miserably failed to be restrained and Bridget sighing was the indication Franky had been waiting for to know she’d given in at bottling it up. “You know Jenny?” Bridget mumbled, letting the brunette clasp onto her hands. Franky shuffled around from the side of Bridget to kneel before her.

“Yeah?”

Bridget nodded, freeing a hand to rub at her chin and choose her words carefully. “It’s just silly, but sometimes, well, she says stuff that…Well…”

Franky’s eyebrows knitted. “How’d you mean?”

The blonde looked away from Franky and down reluctantly, already feeling the sting of embarrassment creeping up on her. “Like I said, it’s stupid…”

“Hey, it’s alright. Talk to me about it,” the paralegal said eagerly, rubbing her thumb across Bridget’s soft cheekbone. Bridget let out a held breath and decided letting it all out in a blur might save her from the shame of feeling so pathetic.

“Everyone knows about you and me and I know we both chose to have it that way, now that we, well…Now that we can. And no one judges, I mean if they did, I wouldn’t stand for it, but, God, Jenny, sometimes she gives me this look like I’m not supposed to be in there, and I know what she’s thinking because I heard her talking all that rubbish with her twenty-year-old mates on the last work-do.”

Franky was processing though Bridget could feel her stiffen at the words in her grasp just as a hazardous, unpredictable flare quickly glimmered in those hard emeralds. She swallowed thickly and smoothed the skin of Franky’s hands to brush away the rising tension. Franky wouldn’t do anything irrational, Bridget knew that, and somehow a firm-headed, protective Franky was always going to be more than just flattering to her. But she didn’t want her to be this way out of fear or angst. Not now that they’d both finally found gravity to bring them to their feet.

“She thinks I’m unprofessional because I’m dating an ex-convict that also happened to be my client, that I’m lousy, old,” Bridget blew out her cheeks. “You name it, the lot,” she finished, giving a sad chuckle whilst Franky’s face only scrunched in anger. “And I know it’s stupid, I mean, I’ve dealt with fucking all sorts, so for this kind of thing to tip me over the edge is just-”

“How long’s this been going on?” Franky asked, breathing hard.

Bridget shrugged. “Not long, I suppose? I don’t know, maybe a while,” she guessed, then took a breath. “Can you do me a favour, honey?” Franky obliged with a confident nod. “Could you not confront her about this, I just…I’ll do it eventually, in time. I wanted to tell you earlier, but I didn’t know how. I mean, Jesus. I can’t believe I let this get to me. I think what hurts the most is that that I thought she was a friend.”

“No, no. Gidge, listen,” Franky started and parked her bum next to Bridget’s on the edge of the tub – a slight dizziness meeting her eyesight, but she knew she was sober enough to let out what she was going to say in the most meaningful way. “Fuck that bitch,” she slurred, twisting her body and clasping her hands tightly onto Bridget’s. “You’re better than her in every fucking way and she’s totally wrong about you. You can’t believe any of that shit. And fuck her for what she says about us, that’s none of her fucking business. She’s got a problem with me; she can say it to my face.” She softened her voice just as she hushed, “I love you, Gidget. Don’t take in a word of what she says, I don’t care if she’s made of money or thinks she’s better. That ditzy bitch doesn’t have a fucking clue.”

It was expected, but Bridget did feel a little better and she gave in with a close-lipped smile and ease of her posture. Franky rubbed a hand on the small of her back and waited patiently. “Thank you,” Bridget said. “No, you’re right, I just…I don’t know why I even came. I don’t know why I let it get to me,” she wondered.

“I let shit get to me all the time,” Franky admitted. “I used to keep it in, but someone taught me that it’s not healthy to do that.” She smirked smugly just as Bridget hummed a peacefully defeated laugh. “Think she called it self-sabotaging, or something.”

“She sounds good, this someone, I suppose.”

“Shit yeah. She’s the best. Hey,” Franky started, pressing her thumb and finger under Bridget’s chin to lift it. She looked damn good with her head held high and Franky wanted to do everything in her power to ensure it would never be lowered again. “I love you,” she said, as easy as that because it _was_ easy and it felt liberating to just say, even in a strange place or somewhere they didn’t quite belong or that didn’t suit them. That would always be easy to say. “I won’t say anything, I promise.” She paused. “But don’t be angry with me if I say I’d kill her if she fucking upsets you again.” Bridget laughed because, in reality, how could she be mad? Fuck, she’d probably do the same for this woman. Franky pressed her lips onto Bridget’s, soft at first, and tasted the drink on her tongue that dipped out slightly. The blonde broke apart but only for a moment, only to murmur an “I love you, too” before the two were latching onto each other again, near breathlessly.

“You okay?” Franky asked, pulling back to cup the crown of Bridget’s head and leaning in to leave a chaste peck on her temple.

“Yeah. Much better.” Bridget hesitated and shuffled as she swallowed anxiously. “I’m sorry about…that, then. I don’t know what that was, Franky, I just-” She shook her head and ran a hand through the loose strands of her hair as she attempted to justify the action or reason the motivation behind it.

“It’s alright, Gidge, I swear.” Franky’s dimples made a recurrence. “Well actually, you did have me a little worried, I thought you were gonna tell us you have a problem with our sex life.”

“Oh, God, no, no,” Bridget surrendered, hands in the air as a chuckle blew from her lips. “No, it’s,” she sought out a word that could possibly define something that felt so perfect for her, but settled on “Great, Franky. No, it’s more than that, it’s…” Another word failed to surface. Franky let out a buoyant “Phew” and settled with that. Things were fine. Things were great.

“Come on,” she groaned as she pulled herself up from the tub edge and offered a hand out to Bridget dizzily. “Let’s get back home. Fuck this party, fuck these people.” The blonde took the hand and was pulled up to her feet as she wobbled and blinked at the quick change in position. It almost slipped Bridget’s notice that Franky had leaned in, hands holding onto her wrists, lips pressed close to her ear to whisper a husky “I wanna do you” and she almost blacked out, then and there at the thought of it. But her face began to feel waxy and pale and the flips in her stomach were not a result of her arousal. “Unless you’re gonna be sick,” Franky said slowly with uncertainty as she studied Bridget’s face. “Are you?” she asked, now more concerned when the blonde merely shook her head. “You are, aren’t ya?”

“Mmh,” Bridget mumbled frustratedly and pulled out of Franky’s grasp to lower herself to the toilet and lift the lid. Franky didn’t have to say anything. She knew what to do. Her hands were behind Bridget, pulling back those loose strands of stubborn hair to a safe position while Bridget retched into the hole. “Such a lightweight,” Franky teased, rubbing soothing circles to her back.

“Fuck you,” Bridget moaned back in a heaving voice and left Franky pouting sulkily.

“Mm, but you already did, and I wanted to fuck you,” she stropped. “Now I’m gonna have to let you sleep and play with myself.”

Once again, she knelt by Bridget. “Have you eaten since we got here?” The blonde gave a weak shake of her head; a taste of bile was sticking in her throat. It was causing her eyes to water. “Well, thank God for that, otherwise you would’ve painted that toilet a different colour. I’ll cook for you at home.”

Bridget made it back onto her feet uneasily – gripping onto Franky for support as she leaned heavily into her. Shaky exhales escaped her mouth while she rotated to flush the loo and scrunched her eyelids shut and grimaced. “Don’t suppose this is a sexy look,” she said, lowly. Franky was having none of it.

“Oh, puh-lease!” Franky exclaimed with a twinkling glint in her eye. “You’re fucking sexy. Period.” She steadied Bridget’s shoulders to let her eyes meet the deep blue. “Now, you okay to walk?” The blonde nodded slightly to which Franky chuckled a “Come on then. Light steps at a time, babe.”

“W-what about our glasses?” Bridget gestured, stumbling by Franky side. The brunette scrunched her nose and gave an uncaring shrug. “Fuckin’ leave em, eh,” she said, and with her shoe, she kicked over the abandoned bottle of Stella for its near-empty contents to roll and run quickly in between and along the brand-new tiles. Bridget spluttered a quiet wheeze while Franky ushered her towards the threshold of the room and out into the noise.

“Fuck this place,” she announced, curling her arm around Bridget’s waist and giving it a squeeze. “Just let us know if you gonna spew on the walk back, alright? I’m sure we’ll find a bush,” she laughed.

“Yeah, right,” Bridget grumbled, feeling the onset of a headache, but despite that, she felt better all the same. And for that, she clung onto Franky just that little bit tighter.


End file.
